Some Things Always Were
by Ooonicorn
Summary: Post Reichenbach Fall. John is left to suffer while Sherlock is off trying to kill the last remains of Moriarty's Web. John tries to move on with his life and succeeds...until one night he gets a mysterious text...Will John go back to being the ever faithful companion to the world's only Consulting Detective or will he go back to his safe life, with his safe wife, Mary? Johnlock.
1. Some Things Always Were

John awoke to the sound of his mobile buzzing on his bedside table. Quickly glancing at the alarm, seeing it read at 1:17 am, he sighed in annoyance and pushed himself up against the headboard, rubbing his eyes before checking to see if his wife was still asleep. Mary lay there, breathing silently with her face pressed into the pillow. The yellow tainted light from the outside world streamed in through a gap in the curtains, illuminating his beautiful wife's face and making her blonde hair golden. He sat there for several moments, silently smiling to himself and contemplating how he got so lucky as to have this amazing woman in his life. Loving and protecting him, staying by his side. She was the one who had helped John after-

_Sherlock..._

It still hurt after these three long years. If it hadn't been for Mary's support, he would have wasted away long before now. John had just been an empty shell after the funeral. He had written a eulogy and was planning to read it out on the day; explaining his feeling for the once brilliant man...but emotions were running high and he never got to say it. Greg was there, holding up his friend as he dragged the distressed man from the stage. John couldn't remember what the others had said. His mind was overcrowded with a loud white noise, with the memory of Sherlock falling on replay. That horrible memory burned into his skull for the rest of his days.

John didn't leave the flat for months, just floating about in a daze; like a ghost haunting its final stay. John stopped sleeping in his room and migrated to Sherlock's room- old room. He would sit in his chair and steer into the empty space that once contained his best friend. John grew incredibly thin, as he refused to eat more than one piece of toast at any given time. Mrs Hudson would bring cups of tea and leave them out for him to drink, but nine times out of ten she would find them untouched. Mycroft would come over every so often to check on his well being, but anybody could see that the once strong army doctor was deteriorating; killing himself in the most inhuman and longest way possible. John Watson was killing himself by letting his broken heart rip him apart.

After four months of an empty shell just _existing _in the flat of 221B, Baker Street; Mycroft had reached his limit.

"John. Sherlock would not have wanted this-"

"Oh just shut up, Mycroft! You have _NO _say in this. You don't know what he would have wanted!"

"I'll think you will find, Doctor Watson, that I do indeed have a say in this. He was my brother and cared for him deeply."

"Oh, really? Is this how you Holmes' show affection, is it? Selling your own bloody brother to a criminal mastermind that _clearly _wants him dead. Oh well done, Mycroft Holmes! You've shown me!"

Mycroft sighed, letting John have his say, he was hysterical by now and there was no point in trying to talk some sense into him when he obviously wasn't prepared to listen. After a few minutes John finally sat down, breathing harshly and glaring at the man across from him.

"Are you quite finished, Doctor Watson?" John huffed at the ironic use of his title.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because, with Sherlock gone-"John visibly winced at the use of the name."...with Sherlock gone I have to look after you; It's what Sherlock would have wanted... There is also the matter of his will to consider and his trust fund."

"I don't want any of his belongings or his money."

"Regardless of what you want, Dear John, Sherlock has left you everything he possessed. You may do as you please with his stuff, but I would advise you to keep the money as you haven't been to work for months. I will continue to pay for your living at 221B Baker Street if you will do one thing for me in return."

"What?"

"Get yourself better. Please John! Go out and socialise, find some girl. As I seem to recall you had quite a few in your time with Sher-"

"Stop!" yelled John. Mycroft would deny it later, but for a second his calm façade flickered and you could see the pain behind it. "Please j-just...stop," The older man just sighed and stood from his chair, hanging his umbrella from his arm and walked purposefully to the door. He stopped just before he was about to exit and looked back at the broken man.

"I know Gregory has been in contact with you. Just accept next time he invites you out for a pint" and left.

John didn't leave the flat for another two weeks and Mycroft didn't bother him. Mrs Hudson continued to buy in his groceries and bring him toast and tea, until one afternoon whilst he was lying on the couch, his phone buzzed.

**'Hey, John. Feel like a pint after work? – GL'**

John huffed as he read the text and grumbled to himself, '_Mycroft_' He stood there for a good five minutes thinking of a suitable excuse.

**'Greg. Sorry I'm busy. Got a date – JW' **he waited two minutes before he got a reply.

**'Bullshit. Meet me at the usual at 8. And if you're not there, I'm dragging your sorry arse out of that apartment. – GL'**, he let out a moan and replied.

**'Fine, see you then. - JW**


	2. To think of failer, only to gain

John entered his once familiar haunt and made his way to the back of the bar, slightly surprised to see Greg already sitting there halfway through his first pint and one sitting on the table, waiting for John. On approaching the corner able Greg stood up to give John a hug.

"Hey, mate."

"Greg." and nodded his reply. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Greg spoke up.

"John, it's been over four months now...don't you think you should...you know-"

"No I don't," Know" Greg, what are you implying?"

"That you should...you know...move on." John just sat back and let this wash over him. He didn't want to move on. He wanted Sherlock. He wanted him to been alive. He wanted to know why he jumped off that fucking building. "I know he was your best friend n' all, but it's not right. You can't just stop your life because he stopped his." John's eyes shot up and levelled with his companions, pure sadness emanating from them.

"You wouldn't understand..."

"Wouldn't I?

"No. You wouldn't," He said shortly, peering down at his sweaty hands and rubbed them over his jeans, "I don't even know what to call what we had...what I felt, but it was..."

John's voice trailed off into silence. A series of unspoken words, the ones he never got to tell Sherlock and never will. Greg's eyes widened with sudden realization. He placed a hand on his friends shoulder and squeezed gently. John gazed up at the older man and gave a timid smile. Greg cleared his throat and stood, taking his empty glass with him.

"Well, I asked you out her for a pint, so let's get drinking!" John laughed at Greg's enthusiasm and started on his abandoned pint already sitting on the table. The two men sat at the back of the bar drinking and laughing at Greg's stories from the yard, acting like they had months before it all changed. John had finished his fourth pint and was heading up to the bar where he spotted slim blonde woman waiting for her drink. John gave her a second glance but just carried on going about his business. Sure, she was pretty, but why would she want to talk to an emotionally distressed ex-army doctor going through a _real _rough patch in his life. Drumming his fingers against the wooden bar, John was completely lost in thought that he almost didn't recognise that someone had spoken to him. He turned and found the pretty blonde woman standing close next to him and smiling with a hand forward.

"Hi! I'm Mary. Mary Morstan." John smiled and extended his hand to shake.

"John Watson, hello" He replied politely and retracted his hand, turning to face the bar again waiting for his drink to arrive. Mary seemed a bit put by John disinterest and let out a sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry if this seems a bit forward to you but my friend just ditched me for some guy and I don't particularly feel like drinking alone. Do you mind if I join you and your friend?" John's head shot up and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to seem rude. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment. No, please join us" By this time the bartender had brought their drinks over and had placed them in front of the couple. Mary offered John a warm smile as he picked up both of their drinks and made his back to the table where he found Greg attempting to throw peanuts into an empty glass. He looked up as John approached the table.

"Finally! I was beginning to think you had gotten yourself kidnapped again," and let out a chuckle before noticing the woman behind John"...and who is this?" Greg flashed his brightest smile at Mary who blushed.

"Ah, Greg, this is Mary Morstan. Mary, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade of NYS." Mary extended her hand to the DI as she made her way around and sat next to John.

"It's a pleasure to meet you DI Lestrade."

"Please, call me Greg." And just as Greg was about to rack up a conversation his phone rang."I, uh...have to get this, John," John just raised his glass in a nodding fashion before taking a drink. The older man turned to face away from the pair and answered the call.

"Hello, Darling...yes I'm at the pub with John...Mmm, I thought you might..." John had only been half listening to Greg's conversation and half focusing on Mary, but he caught the end of the phone call," Okay, see you then. Bye...I love you too." John was puzzled by this declaration of love from his friend so he turned to face him fully until the other man span around in his seat, ready to enter the conversation.

"Greg...I thought you and your wife separated months ago?"

"We did. Almost a year actually,"

"What? How-"

"Well you were a bit busy last year as I recall." This silenced John and he didn't bring the topic up for the rest of the night. He, Mary and Greg spent a few more hours getting to know each other; Mary slowly easing her way into Johns arms as he wrapped them around her shoulders. When the evening was coming to a close they all agreed to do this again. John and Mary stood outside on the clear night with Greg who was waiting for his ride to arrive. It was starting to get a bit chilly so John brought his jumper and put it over Mary's shoulders who gratefully accepted when a black Jaguar XJ pulled up beside them and the British Government climbed out.

"Good evening, John. I hope you have had a pleasant night?"

"Yes, fine, thank you. Here to kidnap me again are you?" To John surprise, Mycroft just laughed and shook his head. Mary gave him a questionable look and Greg just smirked.

"No, of course not. I was just picking up something that is mine," and with that Greg strode forward and took Mycroft's hand. John alcohol addled brain took a few moments longer than usual to make the pieces click into place. When he realised he made a large O shape with his mouth and tried to say something intelligent, only for it to come out in a jumble of words. After taking a deep breath, John had composed himself enough to say something without embarrassing himself.

"Oh, well...congratulations I guess," and offered a hand. Mycroft shook it and smiled, making John feel slightly uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

"No well you wouldn't, would you. Seeing as you've been ignoring my attempts to get you out for the last several months" huffed Greg and gave a tired smile. Mycroft looked at his partner and wrapped his arms around his waist further.

"It's good to see you well again, John. Do try to keep it up. Gregory and I must be off home now, but if there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask." And with that, the two men climbed into the car and drove away. Mary turned to him fully; deep blue eyes identical to his peering up at him and mouth fighting to keep back a known laugh. They locked eyes momentarily before bursting out into a fit of laughs by the side of the road. Once they had pacified their laughter the couple just stood there smiling at each other. This was the first time in a long time that he had felt anything other than grief and despair. Mary made him feel a bit like his old self again...

"Umm, Mary. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out sometime." Her face light up at the thought and she hastily searched her bag for a pen and paper, "I can just put you straight into my phone you know" Laughed John. Mary paused and looked at John awkwardly, a red blush clearly showing her embarrassment.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," John took a step closer to her closing the short distance between them, making it almost nonexistent. He brought a hand to the side of her face and brushed a thumb over her cheek before closing in and capturing her lips with his own. The kiss was short and sweet and it made them both blush. She giggled and relayed her number to John who saved it to his phone. They parted ways shortly after and John felt himself feeling, for the first time in months, better about life; that it doesn't have to end with John wasting away to nothing. That he can move on, even without the one thing that had made him truly happy. When John finished climbing the 17 steps to his apartment, he made his way to his _own _bedroom and fell asleep conformably on top of the cover, fully clothed and not caring one bit.


	3. A Message

**Disclaimer: I do not own. The characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and these versions of them belong to the men who ruined my life, Moffat and Gatiss. I just get to play and emotionally cripple them :)**

* * *

Over the passing months, John and Mary spent more and more time together. Having lunch dates during their breaks going out for dinner and just spending time with each other in general. Mary had given him the confidence to go out and find a job, to try and get over his grief and start his life again. Sarah had approached him and offered his old job back, which he happily accepted and was now working several days a week at the clinic and doing a few shifts at the hospital when it was understaffed. Between his busy work schedule and spending time with Mary, he barely spent any time at the flat at all, only going back for a few changes of clothes every now and again. He was spending the night with Mary most evenings, to the point where he was practically living with her. So when the subject was brought up by her one night after making love, he happily accepted. He moved his clothes out that weekend, not needing _or wanting_ to take any of the furniture that he and Sherlock used. Mycroft agreed to pay for 221B Baker Street to stay in his name, just in the case of him wanting to return. John had assured him that this would not be the case; he loved Mary and was planning on marrying her, but Mycroft carried on paying regardless.

John was brought back from his thoughts from the passing years and reached over to grab his phone. '_It's probably_ _just the hospital' _John thought to himself. He tapped the screen and waited for the message to come up. It was from an unknown number.

**There are tickets at your door. Use them.  
SH**

John frowned at his phone, his mind not really registering the text before him. He sat there, emotions running high, changing from confused to realisation, to sadness and finally to anger. How dare someone be this cruel! If he found out who did this, there would be hell to pay. John sat brooding for a while before he took a deep breath to stay calm and replied.

**I don't know who the hell you are or how the fuck you got my number, but I can tell you if you ever contact me again I will take this further than the police!  
JW**

Satisfied with his response, he sent the text to the un-known number and tossed his phone somewhere in front of him, not really caring where it lands. Someone, whoever they were, had just caused a massive surge of grief to overcome John. He rubbed his hands over his face, shoulders shaking as he wept for his dead friend; feelings that he had tried to keep hidden, bubbling up like a spring brook.

Deciding that he did not want risk waking up the sleeping person next to him, he did what any Englishman does in times of emotional distress; he went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. John grabbed his favourite mug from the cupboard, tea bags and flicked on the kettle, tapping his fingers against the side of the bench and waiting for it to finish boiling. A few minutes went by, John lost in thought over the text message when the soft sound of steam penetrated his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

John sat at the table in silence, berating himself at how silly he was being. '_Get a hold of yourself Watson! It's probably some kid that got hold of your number and felt like being a little prat. Nothing like a bit of emotional torture to make one feel better about oneself,' _Deciding that he would not fall victim to this hoax, John finished his cup of tea and made his way back to bed. But just as he went to push open the door he had a sudden thought; What if it was Sherlock? What if he really was alive? If anybody could come back from the dead it would only be that brilliant man...and possibly Jesus. But all these thoughts stirred something inside him and his curiosity got the better of him. John quietly crept down the hall to the front door, squinting in the darkness to see if there was, indeed, an envelope. Kneeling down, arms searching, he felt around for the feel of paper. Feeling a bit foolish, he was almost ready to give up when he felt a rather large envelope just wedged under the door; he pulled it free and grasped it triumphantly. He walked back into the kitchen sitting at the table once more and stared at the thick paper sitting on the cold surface innocently. _What if it really is a message from Sherlock? What if he is alive? _The fact that the text, supposedly from his dead best friend, said there would be and envelope sounded ridiculous. He would not allow himself to think, even for a second, that it could be true...but now he had evidence, all he needed to do was open it up.

Shakily he reached out and picked up the offending paper. Nerves starting to get the better of him, he paused only for a moment to take a deep breath. He ripped open the top and peered in, where he found one ticket to Ireland for _that _morning.

Should he go? Should he just drop everything he has worked for to go on some wild goose chase? John shook away the thought and sighed heavily, getting to his feet and placing his mug in the sink, '_I can't think about this right now. What I need is a good night sleep...considering someone decided to wake me up at this absurd fucking time.' _He took one last look at the ticket on the table and went to bed.


End file.
